


Off Screen

by RussianEmpress



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M, Multi, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-08
Updated: 2017-05-15
Packaged: 2018-06-07 03:27:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6783343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RussianEmpress/pseuds/RussianEmpress
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During Civil War there were some scenes missing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Troubling Thoughts (Vision/Wanda Slow Burn Fluff)

**Author's Note:**

> First up, Vision and Wanda spending time together while she's under house arrest.

“I see you are thinking about Pietro.” Stated the humanoid computer simply. His voice calm and steady as it always was, however a hint of worry was tied to every word this time, his tone becoming softer at the late Maximoff’s name. The lines in his perfectly crafted face that were supposed to represent eye brows, knitted up with unease.

The sad women broke her blank stare into oblivion and looked up at Vision from where she sat on top her neatly made bed. Vision’s much taller frame leaned carefully on the wooden frame of her bedroom door, trying to mimic the “casual” attitude of Tony. He was matching the physical stance of a care-free man rather easily, those long burgundy colored fingers were loosely tangled in each other’s relaxed grip in front of him, those powerful shoulders that were always perfectly aligned and straight were tilted and his right one was hitched up as he put all his weight onto it, leaning. Even his feet, that were sporting freshly polished Oxfords, were crossed at his ankle, the very epitome of cool and lax. He looked expensive and new, all dressed up in Tony’s fine cashmere sweaters and white pressed collared shirts poking from under it, and black slacks. He looked like he fitted perfectly into Tony Stark’s home of amazing electronics and weird yet interesting art decor.

However, the feeling of his overwhelming calculated worry and screamingly silent anxiety was enough to make the very powerful mutant women start grinding her teeth. Instead, Wanda’s head tilted to the side, eyes narrowing up at the man. If that’s even what “he” was. Ultron claimed to be a man too, no a God. No, something better, something higher and more powerful than a God because of, well, the list of reasons the machine gave back then was long and unimportant. It mattered little what you claimed to be when you were utterly vaporized by something like The Vision, a computer, no, something that was above that, artificial intelligence? No, he, “it”, was half Gem Stone, half plastic, part Tony? No, part Ultron? Who was part Tony already?…Oh this all made Wanda’s head spin more than usual. It was all so confusing, and so many English words still got lost in her vast Sokovia’s vocabulary that she didn’t quite understand what Vision exactly was. Besides currently observing her with in his quite manner in the doorframe, that is.

He was correct though, as he always was, she had been thinking of her beloved twin Pietro. But it unnerved her how he knew. She was not aware that Vision was a telepath. Or had he always been and nobody told her? Could she not have picked it up on her own, being a telepath in her own manner? She frowned a bit. Did they, the rest of the Avengers, not tell her because she not fully trusted among them? Why should she be? It had only been a few months since she tried to help a corrupt piece of advanced machinery burn down all of civilization to ash.

“How do you know?” She said, her o’s long and touched with a foreign accent. Long strands of brown hair fell to the side of her face when she quizzically stared at him. Vision untangled his fingers and pointed at her.

“You are crying. An easy tell.” He said sadly, almost in a whisper, like he didn’t want to share this information in a completely empty mansion. 

Wanda’s hand flew up to her damp cheeks, the tips of her fingers touching the wet streaks left behind when fat little tears must have fallen without her feeling them roll down her own flesh. He was right, her constantly troubled thoughts had drifted to her dearest dead brother, as they did from time to time, every day without fail, but this past week Pietro’s youthful face and hidden smile that he only used to allow Wanda to see had plagued her more and more. The remaining Maximoff had been adjusting to this “normal” life in slow, even strides. This normal life that which Tony Stark had provided without sparing another second thinking about it. One of the most powerful men in the world, one of the most richest, Iron Man himself, had been spoiling her silly without him even really registering (or caring) the fact that Wanda was used to a life of being locked in a windowless cell in HYDRA, going days without eating (to see if starvation would have any effect on her mysterious mutant powers), or her incredibly simple and frugal childhood life in Sokovia. Tony Stark had given her a huge room, with the biggest bed she had ever had privilege to touch, let alone sleep in, complete with a giant television that was almost comical in size with a remote that she only understood how to push the “power” button on and off. She could walk into the lavish kitchen at any time of day or night and always find the massive refrigerator filled with fresh fruits, meats and brands of foods she had seen in advertisements. It shamed her when Tony got upset over the mystery person who left the coffee grounds in the sink. There didn't seem to be a trash of any sort in the whole place. Even though she was technically under “house arrest”, something that Tony tried to explain to her gently and carefully, like telling the family pet that were about to go to the vet for the very last time, so not to rouse her into a paranoid frenzy, she was still allowed to live the life that only a few people in the whole world could dream of. She still was allowed to wonder wherever she liked, the Olympic sized swimming pools, the private spas and baths, or to go lounge in the garden in the back (which she heard rumored wasn’t for Tony, or even for Pepper, but for the MIA Dr. Banter, with all of Bruce’s favorite types of planets that were imported from India and Finland). God, before the house arrest Tony had even granted her permission to drive any of his insanely expensive cars or use a private jet or two. Even though she had never driven anything with an engine in her entire life. 

He threw a pair of car keys at her for an untouched model of a blue Lamborghini that wasn’t even in production yet, and gave her a wink. “You and Nate should go shopping. Go do something girly, something fun, yeah? Get your hair done together, maybe nails? I see yours are a little chipped. Hell, take the jet. Go shopping in Italy. Tell Gucci that Tony sent you.” 

Having all of this made her feel like an empress. It wasn’t “hers” though, and it wasn’t really FOR her either. She understood it was really just for Tony, this big and extravagant gesture of friendship. It was the only way Tony knew how to express his sorrow, a sort of asking for forgiveness with all he tried to amend for his doings and undoings. For Ultron. For Sokovia. For Pietro. But Tony seemed to forget that she was at fault here too, to some degree as well. Had she not agreed to help Ultron, Pietro would maybe still be by her side now, enjoying all of Tony’s gifts and bounty. But then again she wouldn’t have helped Ultron if HYDRA had never gotten their hands on her or her brother. But they wouldn’t have ended up at HYDRA if Stark Industries hadn’t destroyed everything they knew and loved. And round and round the blame game went. In another life maybe it all could have been played out differently. In another life she dreamed she wore a crown of blood red rubies, with a long cape that swirled behind her in elegance and magistracy. In this life nobody feared her, she had a large family, true kind friends and kings of other lands would seek out her hand in marriage and she lived happily every after. 

Then it would dawn on her in stages, the truth of it all, and she would realize that she was alone now. Truly alone. Her home decimated to rubble. Family, what little friends she had, crushed under tons of concrete and steel, maybe even exploded in the rain of fire by Ultron’s drones. Pietro was not here to share this gluttony of comfort with her, these first class meals, these mindless shopping trips where not just hundreds were thrown out but thousands. A thousand dollars on a single pair of shoes, who would have thought it. It shamed her when Natasha told her NOT to feel ashamed, it’s just how the world is. It’s just how America works. It’s just how Tony works too and Tony was in America and America was part of the world and Wanda was currently in all three. But Wanda couldn’t help but feel sick about it afterwards when Natasha pressured her to get them, that they would make her feel better and take her mind off things. Wanda liked Natasha, she really did. She wanted to think of themselves as friends, two women who were transplanted into this little Avengers family, with messy pasts that were forever stained with someone's blood that wasn't their own. The very serious S.H.I.E.L.D agent told her they were cute shoes, which sounded forced and strained coming from those red stained lips of Black Widow. Natasha told her it will take her some time to get used to "life style", everyone always had to adjust when they became "friends" with Tony Stark. When Wanda returned to her room, she threw those useless heels into the back of the closet. Maybe if Pietro was here, he would have awed at a thousand dollar pair of sneakers, running on the finest footwear the world had to offer. Running three, four times the speed of when he wore his adoptive father’s hand me down loafers that didn’t fit him, or HYDRA’s clumsy and old army boots. But that was all moot thinking.

Pietro would never run again.

Wanda’s sight blurred and Vision’s soft mesh fabric fingers wiped away a tear that had again, escaped Wanda’s over flowing eyes without her even realizing it. One moment she was thinking about forced shopping sprees, then next, a very real vision of Pietro’s bullet riddled bloody body on the broken ground. Vision looked down at her as Wanda snapped her head up, surprised that he was no longer lingering at the edge of her room, but was just inches away from her, without her noticing. 

“May I sit down?” He gestured with his other hand to the vast bed she sat on. She nodded, wiping at her face, feeling embarrassed that she was crying. She thought she had lost all her tears decades ago. She never wanted to waste her time crying ever again, and she certainly didn’t want to ever cry in front of anyone. And here she was, crying like a child in front of a perfect-God-like being that must have thought her to be silly and weak. Maybe a little pathetic, too. She leaned away from his comforting touch. 

“What happened to your brother wasn’t your fault.” He said. She hadn't noticed him sitting down, as the mattress hadn't shifted under his weight, for he shifted his weight to be nonexistent. What a strange creature he was...But so was she. More so a monster than a creature. 

He placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, and gave it two awkward pats in a “there-there” motion. She opened her mouth to argue his point, and allow herself be swept up in self-pity so that she could justify her crying and mourning. Vision went on, cutting her chance to raise an argument.

“If you trail it far back enough, you should blame me.” Wanda’s confusion was plain on her fair features, again she tried to protest, and again Vision denied her and continued his explanation. 

“I was the one that first noticed when Ultron had manifested into being self-aware, and yet I failed to contain him within the main computer’s system, which lead him to gain all the information the Avengers had to offer and whatever else that turned him into this hate fueled thing, this concept of _Ultron_.”

There was that tricky English again that Wanda tried to understand, but some words escaped her. She never did find out just how Ultron came to their church in Sokovia that faithful day, just what she picked up from the news and what others tried to tell her. Tony had made Ultron, like a computer game, but one that could help people. That was why Ultron wanted to start humanity over? To help them? And then Tony told Ultron to listen to him, and Ultron said no and that was when she and her brother had joined the fight. It was when Ultron promised them a place at his side when he started the world over and it sounded wonderful. Ultron was so kind to them, to her especially, that they almost ended up following him blindly. The Maximoff’s twins understood even less back then, in the grand scheme of things, and they didn’t care. They were out of HYDRA, they were together and that was all that mattered. A metal God offered them revenge, and they took it without asking too many questions. And when they did ask, Ultron would smile at them warmly, and tell them as simple humans, gifted yes, but still simple, they wouldn’t understand. Wanda accepted the fact that she was just not smart enough to understand the situation and that it was better to not question the living computer who didn’t seem to like humans all that much.

Vision detected her self-conscious state, the turned down chin, her right hand fidgeting with her left long sleeved cuff, her red swollen eyes avoiding his clear ones as he spoke, and tried to reword his explanation. He had no intention of making the human girl feel less worthy or adding more confusion to her current mood.

“Ultron over powered me.” Vision saw Wanda flick her eyes over to him. Good, a sign of understanding perhaps? Maybe a connection of experiences was beginning to form between their linked stories? These were all good sighs that Vision was making note of. 

“When I was just a string of data, he was a string as well. But within seconds he became a tangled ball, of yarn, if you will, and I was too weak to continue holding him. Tony had built him decades after he had a chance to study me, and even I was very advanced for the time. Ultron was a fancier A.I.” Vision smiled a little. It was a sad attempt at humor. Wanda didn't understand it, and he wasn't ask quirky as he thought he was. How did Tony do it so effortlessly?

“I turned the tables on him, so to speak, and when I did I was the one that deleted him so he could never harm another human ever again.” 

“But now I am something more than just a yarn ball of tangled electric string living outside a complex set of microchips and circuits.” He pointed to that brilliant gold gem in the middle of his flawlessly symmetrical face and forehead and then smoothly pointed to the television screen in her room that was on, but mute. The colored images of the news streamed in an endless loop of destroyed buildings, dead bodies, and aerial shots of the range of damage caused by the Avengers in Wakanda, the smoking building that had brought this whole registration mess up. 

“And you, are more than just someone who happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time. You are far more than just an experimented on test subject.”

Wanda watched the screen and realized all over again that she was the spark that ignited all that was currently happening right now. She was the torch that brought it to life to all this chaos. 

“You saved Steve.” Vision stated if not a little happily, a little proudly for Wanda’s sake. 

“And before you raise an argument, please, if I may,” It annoyed her how polite he was at times, or maybe she just wasn’t used to it yet after a life time of having people either bark orders at you in disgust, or scream at you out of fear. Vision went on, “Yes, I think I am aware the numbers in your head are not matching up. You think by saving the Captain, in such a hasty manner, in such a hostel moment, I might add, you saved one life in exchange of taking away ten. That is not true.” Those disked lensed eyes looked at her kindly, they moved slowly around her face, capturing her features in them and committing them to his internal memory. 

“I have watched the footage over and over and analyzed it to a fine point. Had that mercenary detonated that bomb in the street, on Captain’s shield, as was his intent, the casualty number would have been higher. AND Captain America would either had been severely injured or even dead.”

Wanda did not believe the great Captain America would have been killed so easily after all he had been through. Vision explained how her force filed had absorbed 58% of the blast when the bomb went off, and the building’s concert walls she threw him into absorbed another 24.5%. A blast that was meant to be for 3 miles, with enough force to kill 25 or 30 people (INCLUDING Steve Rogers) only managed travel 27.47 feet and only killed 10. _Only_ was an ugly word and Wanda didn't like it. Vision’s gentle British mimicked voice explained that it was only a matter of time that this registration act was going to emerge and the Avengers were the perfect target to be blamed for the destroyed properties and dead civilians around the world. There would never be a clean record, not when organizations like HYDRA and the other hundreds of terrorist groups like them around the world were involved in causing pain and were content with watching the world burn for personal gain.

“I hope that puts your troubled mind at ease a little.” 

It did. It greatly did and she told him so. How was one to compare the deaths of a few to a few dozen? Was Tony Stark even capable of sleep anymore after dropping a city of hundreds of thousands to their dooms? None of that would have mattered, however, had Ultron ended up victorious. Then billions would have been obliterated. Did Steve think about all those dead in the alien invasion in New York? Was there a line to be drawn in the sand or would the mark be blown away in the wind regardless of how deep it was. Wanda didn’t even want to think about Thor, a true God, who was beyond age and who must have been in and seen countless wars. How many deaths were upon him? She shook her head free of those answerless questions and focused again on Vision beside her. 

Vision lips tugged up into a smile once more at her. For her. A simple gesture that the others did not do for her. Tony’s smirk didn’t count. She tucked some hair behind her ear, and aimlessly wiped at her face again even though it was already drying. If Vison listened to his readings, right now would have been a perfect time to wrap his arms around her shoulders, carefully bring her into his chest, hold her close for approximately 36 seconds; longer if she did not pull away and remained still in his embrace, perhaps even run one hand up and down her arm or perhaps her back in a modest motion and their friendship bound would be stronger for it. Vision thought and analyzed about it too long, and his hesitation made Wanda squirm under his intense gaze, so instead she spoke again, ruining the quite moment they could have shared. He would never know how Wanda desperately hoped that he would have indeed embraced her, letting her know that even though she was alone in the world she wasn’t completely on your own. 

“I miss him.” She said and gazed back to the soundless images of death and distraction and men in suites standing in front of podiums. 

“I fear that is something you will feel for the rest of your life.” He touched the top of her hand running his digits over the many silver and black ringers that decorated her own fingers. The intricate design of the rings resembling the patterns on his face in a slight manner. 

“But you are far stronger than you think you are, than any of us think you are. You’ll get through this. As will the rest of the Avengers. And I will be here with you as well.”

She watched his fingers dance and glide over hers. Those fingers of hers were technically the source of her power, as she weaved the mutated magic within her body between her palms and knuckles, rotating the strange and unexplainable red energy in and around them. She felt his own energy crawl on her skin, his very form being the extension of his own mystifying power. She flushed. Or maybe she blushed? How strange it felt to have a man touch her so gently. Even though he really wasn’t a man, but she wasn’t going to let that spoil how he still made her stomach warm up when he was near, or how she just couldn’t fight her cheeks beginning to glow whenever he laid a hand on her arm, or shoulder, or now, with his fingers exploring her hand so care-free and innocently. 

Wanda looked back up at Vision, his eyes darted from their hands and up to her as well. He threw a quick look at the TV behind her and cursed himself for doing so, just as she decided to lean in a little closer to him. Instead of indulging in another close moment with Wanda, something Vision was beginning to enjoy more and more and come up with excuses in order to do so, such as hover around her open door and poke his head in to say hello to a fellow team "prison bound" member but was greeted with a weeping witch instead. Instead he witnessed the news broadcast the emergency situation that was currently happening at the UN…

Wanda’s faint shy grin faded away when Vision’s eyes were trained hard on what was happening behind her. She began to turn and quickly Vision said “Polksin?” and she turned back to face him. 

“Polksin?” She parroted back, a little smile on her dark colored lips. She always liked it when Vision said words from her motherland. It sounded flawless on his electrical tongue. 

“You know how to play?” She said. She hadn’t played Polksin since she was in grade school. She had no doubt that Tony Stark had gold covered playing cards somewhere in this house. 

Vision stood up, efficiently putting his body between Wanda and the literal bad news. He was going to try to spare her the horrible situation of the world, if only for a few more hours while they played an old Sokovia card game. She would find out eventually, certainly, but was it wrong to delay the information if she wouldn’t be able to leave the house in order to help or do anything about it. Vision was already calibrating all the facts that whoever or whatever was behind this dreadful bombing at a UN meeting, of all places, was already being investigated. The King and Prince of Wakanda were there after all, as well as Black Widow. The investigation was already underfoot, unquestionably. Captain America and Falcon were in the area as well. There was little for Wanda to do besides have more things to worry over events she could not control. For now, it was best to take Wanda out of this cramped room (even though "cramped" was the opposite of what it was) and make their way to one of Tony’s many parlor room to play some cards. 

“But go easy on me. I may get distracted with remembering all the rules. You’ll have to remind me.” 

“Ha, I haven’t played since my hair vas in pigtails. Iz that even possible? You getting distracted, that iz?”

“I’m starting to wonder that myself.” He said good naturedly, keeping instep with Wanda by her side as they walked down the long hallways of Tony's massive home. Vision pondered if he shouldn’t perhaps attempt to cook her dinner afterwards.

///Hope you enjoyed! Next chapter: Spiderling and Tony talk shop while Peter is suited up with his new digs at Tony’s place.///


	2. Shop Talk (Iron Man & Spider Man)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Missing scene of Tony hooking Peter up with his new suit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh wow I had TOO much fun writing this one. Peter needs to hang around Tony more. Enjoy!

What was better than a brand new limo rolling itself through the burrows of Queens, New York to pick you up in a complete surprise? A brand new _HUMMER LIMO._

Tony Stark had kept his promise to Peter Parker, that he would be contacted shortly in a call for justice and truth. Well, Mr. Stark didn’t say it was for “justice” and “truth”, but Peter knew that’s what he truly meant. So for three days after THE Tony Stark, THE Iron Man left his and Aunt May’s apartment Peter was constantly looking for a raven to land on his school’s roof with a note tied to its leg. Or maybe a man in a baseball cap and trench coat to slip a note into his backpack with further instructions at the hot dog stand on 5th and Brightin Avenue, where he usually got lunch. (That hot dog vender always gave Peter extra relish for no cost). He could have sworn the women on the subway train with the huge gold earrings and matching sunglasses was going to say something in code to him when she slid up right next to him when the doors closed. He was ready for her iPod to turn into a hologram message that only he could see with a tiny blue form of Tony standing there and telling him he’s his only hope. But none of those things happened. A raven never came, no man in a hat ever met him on the corner, and the women just continued to listen to her music undisturbed by Peter’s suddenly insanely taunt posture and his knuckles turning white on the subway pole next to her. 

So the walk home was long, as it always was, 13 blocks from the closest subway station to be exact, but it felt hundreds of miles long when he kept jerking his head from side to side, on the lookout for something that wasn’t coming. Maybe this was what it felt like to be a crazy person. 

But there it was, low and behold, a massive white ray of light that came with a license plate that read “Big Stark 02” in custom ruby red letters. It was so NOT sublet that it made perfect sense. Highly illogical, and yet, if he was going to be sent to this super selective “genius camp” with a full “scholarship grant” from Tony Stark, well, there was no need to be secretive about it. Peter was only a little disappointed a raven didn’t come to him in the middle of the night with a note. But then he saw the spinning purple neon rims as he came closer to the monster of a car and wasn’t disappointed anymore.

“Holy sh…wow. What. What!? AUNT MAAAY!” Peter said to himself and then yelled for his Aunt. The young boy then bolted for the entrance of the apartment building, he was too excited and actually used his spider powers to jump the stairs six at a time. Nobody noticed him, everyone in a ten mile radius was beholding the massively huge long car, not skinny Peter Parker jumping some stairs. Peter busted through the door so violently, Aunt May shot to her feet, dropping whatever she was reading.

“Peter! What is it! Are you ok, what’s wrong!? Why are you breathing so hard, is someone chasing you? Is someone after you?” Aunt May pulled up her sleeves and almost marched past her nephew to face whatever bully must have been coming up the stairs after him to give them a piece of her mind. 

“Car.” Pant. “Downstairs.” Pant. “ME.” Pant “MisterStark.” Double pant. “Limo.”

Aunt May relaxed when Peter wasn’t in danger, but then her neatly trimmed eyebrows went up at his verb-less sentence. She went to the window that over looked the street and her jaw dropped. A limo, so polished that its roof reflected the blue sky above it like a mirror, was indeed downstairs, right smack dap in the middle of the thin strip of street. And it was waiting for Peter, of all people. 

Aunt May started to cry, it was ok, she was just too happy for her genius nephew. She turned back at him, he was breathless and flushed, eyes beyond wide and smiling so purely it hurt her heart. Tony Stark was living proof that being smart literally paid off, and finally someone like him had recognized Peter for his intelligence. All those times he came home with a bloody nose, or those baby brown eyes filled with tears when someone bigger than him stole his books, or threw his projects in the trash at school. It was all so terribly cliché, and she was so tired of Peter being picked on for nothing more than being kind and being surrounded by people who were just not as smart as he was. For years she told him that he just stuck through it that it would all pay off. And when his uncle died, his dearest friend, his father figure, she never stopped telling him that. And here it was it. Here was his moment that he so rightfully deserved. He was about to be given everything that was coming to him and maybe more. Peter deserved so much more, and she just couldn’t give it to him. But Mr. Stark could. She was so God damn proud of him right now that when she started to cry, so did he. 

“Oh Peter, you’re such a softy.” She laughed, so did he, and she pulled him into a sweet and powerful embrace.

“OH!” Aunt May yelled, suddenly remembering that Mr. Stark was downstairs waiting for Peter. It must have been impolite to keep a billionaire waiting. Or was it rude that he came unannounced without warning to pick Peter up just out of the blue? 

“I’ll help you pack! How long will you be gone? Mr. Stark really didn’t explain anything to me. Did he contact you? An email or something?” Aunt May went on and on, using the back of her hand to dab at the corners of her eyes, worried her mascara would run.

“Please, Aunt May, it’s cool! Really, I totally got this. Go see if Mr. Stark is down there. Say hi. You seemed to have chatted it up with him just fine last time.” Peter couldn’t risk her helping him pack, for obvious reasons that she would stumble upon his street fighting super hero bad ass outfit of red and blue track pants and hoodie. She had seen the YouTube videos of Spider Man just like everyone else had in America (Damn whoever took those videos and got up to that 46 million hit count. Not like Peter would see any of the sweet royalty money after doing all the work. No, he wasn’t bitter. Not at all.) 

So she went down the stairs, calling back for him to not forget his toothbrush (he did) or his contact lenses (he didn’t but forgot the contact solution instead) and then her breath got caught when she saw how big the limo was as she stepped down the stairs of her stoop.

Now all the neighbors gawked from all the windows and now the kids and adults on their stoops came over to touch the spotless white armored car with their own hands. These might be the first and only time they would ever see a limo in real life.   
She sniffed, her smiling starting to hurt her face as she stared at the ebony window that reflected her messy self perfectly. Whoever was driving the car hadn’t stepped out yet and that was probably because the person they were picking was still upstairs trying to pack. She looked up and over her shoulder, she could see Peter’s scrambling form run back and forth through the window of his room. He would dart out of sight, then pop back in, a long shirt in his hands waving behind him like a victory banner. Then an outline of a hoodie would lift over his head and come back down. No doubt trying to shove all this cloths into a plastic K Mart bag or something. Peter could be heard “whooping” and hollering in joy. Oh that boy. 

Aunt May tried to squint through the pitch black windows and of course saw nothing beyond her own reflation. If Mr. Stark was in there, he didn’t seem as friendly as before if he wasn’t even going to step out to say hello to her. Even if he did only want Peter. Speaking of which Peter manifested right beside her, the backpack over his shoulder unzipped due to all the jeans and shirts sticking out of it, and another duffle bag with more cloths also sticking out of the unclosed top. That huge camera with the double thick wide black strap dangled off his neck like a protective token. 

“Lordy Peter, why did you pack 14 pairs of jeans? You’re only going to a weekend seminar right?”

The neighbors around her snickered at Peter for clearly needing an adult to help him pack properly. He bristled a bit. 

“Science ends up destroying a lot of pants Aunt May, you wouldn’t understand.” 

She raised an eyebrow with an “uh huh” and the driver decided to step out at that moment. He opened the door for Peter and when Aunt May ducked to catch a glimpse of Mr. Stark, the cabin of the limo was empty. She looked at the driver.   
“Wait, so what is this thing called again? Is there a phone number I can call for when Peter gets there? Where’s Mr. Stark?”

The driver took Peter’s bags, snooty expression displayed at the improper packing and unzipped lumpy luggage. 

“Mr. Stark is at Stark Towers waiting for Mr. Parker’s arrival. He is a very busy man, as I’m sure you are aware. He can’t travel to meet all the grant contestants, as much as he would have liked to.”

“But is there a numb-“

“Aunt May,” Peter interrupted her. He wanted to put her at ease as best he could. But he also really, really, really wanted to get into that limo. 

“I’ll call you the second I get there, give you the 4-1-1, and I’ll be back before you even know it! Ok?”

She looked down at him. Peter was so much shorter than her and almost twice as skinny. She never stopped smiling and nodded at him. She trusted him, and of course she could trust world famous and a well know personality like Mr. Stark who made a personal house call to them earlier. 

They hugged one more time and she let me him go, the driver closing the trunk with half of the things Peter owned in this life and then closed the door on Peter himself, sealing him inside the multimillion dollar luxury vehicle. That black window rolled down soundlessly, and he poked his head out. All the kids around the block that knew him yelled his name out and waved. They must have thought he was going to be a famous movie star now, not some scientist. Then again Stark did make science the “it” thing now a days. 

“Go get ‘em tiger.” Aunt May said and the car peeled away from the curb. They were down the street and out of sight in seconds, Peter still a little light headed from the extravagance that currently surrounded him completely. 

He whistled low, horribly impressed. How could he not be? Six TVs decorated the car’s walls, dim lights stretched down the inside of the cabin, magazines that were neatly spread out on the counter tops (counter tops inside a freakin limo?) with Tony Stark’s face, Stark Industries’ company logo and the Avengers decorated the covers of them. His hands glided around the finest leather he was sure he would never feel again in his whole life around his super comfy butt and legs. Now THIS was a leather seat. He sat once or twice in his friend Harry’s father’s meeting room chair that was at the head of the massive oak meeting table. That chair would die of shame if knew other leather chairs like this one existed. The saying “I could get used to this” didn’t cross Peter’s mind actually. He knew that he would be back in the streets beating up thugs who were praying upon the innocent in just a few days, but he was young. He was allowed to indulge just for now, with only a little bit of guilt. 

He explored the cabin more, testing the buttons the opened the sunroof, blasted the thousand channel radio set, turned on the disco ball, turned on the fog machine, turned on the iced coffee maker, and opened a little black lacquer cabinet in the side of the door. 

Oh wow. So much liquor. He’s never even snuck a beer let alone something 100% proof like vodka. And yet there they were, those glass bottles clinking against each other delicately as the car drove on. Nobody would know, not even the driver. Unless Tony had this car rigged with spy cameras, Peter was free to do as he pleased for the whole car ride. But of course Tony had this car rigged. Of course he did. This was a test! Tony was watching him from Stark Towers, to see if Peter was really a good person, someone who followed the rules. Someone who was honest! Someone who was true! Someone who was…

…Did Tony Stark, Iron Man, really have nothing better to do than creepily watch a teenage boy have himself a shot of liquid courage? Oh man, how cool would it be to impress Mr. Stark that he could hold his liquor! Well, no, not physically hold it, like in his hand, like in a glass, but like drink it? And not get sick? Wait, would he get sick? He never thought about that. What if his spider powers made him allergic to it now? What if he was invited to hang out with the Avengers after they saved the world and he threw up his Jack and Coke and looked like a total idiotic moron and then Iron Man would kick him off the team for embarrassing him like that? What if he threw up on Black Widow? Oh God, what if he threw up so hard and it got on Black Widow AND Captain America. What if…

Peter fell back into the plush leather wide seat, defeated by his own over thinking. 

How come chasing bad guys and risking his life to help people was less of a difficult decision than choosing to sneak a drink. He closed the little cabinet with the toe of his Converse sneaker, hiding the bottles behind it once more. If he was going to have his first drink, it was going to be with Iron Man and Captain America, and oh man, how cool would it be if Thor was there too? Peter smiled like the dork he was best known for and played the imaginary party in his head over and over until they reached the airport.

//

Mr. Stark was also not there to greet him in the private jet. All this swanky traveling by himself was going to make Peter look his nose down at the J Line when he got back on his subway the next day. But better to have loved and lost, then not ever have sat in a G6 private jet with a billiards table three thousand feet in the sky.

Mr. Stark’s video message was however waiting for him when he buckled in. A stupidly good looking flight attended gave Peter the black little device and he watched her walk away. Tony Stark sure did have the finer taste for things in life. When he tapped a button, in the same manner Tony did when he was in his room of a few days earlier, the screen jumped off the device and hung in midair. 

“Hey there Insect Kid!” Peter rolled his eyes but smiled anyway at the floating face of Tony. It looked like the recording was from the inside of his Iron Man suit from all the screens and displays that surrounded him in the pitch blackness of the armor. His glowed at Peter.

“Ok here’s the low down, I’m currently in the air myself, literally, flying around back to you. Had some business to take of in Washington. War Machine says hi. I’ll be back at Stark manor to meet up with soon and then I’ll tell you why mommy and daddy are having a little bit of fight now.”

Peter read in the news websites that Captain America was looking awful shady right now, running around with this terrorist Winter Solider guy, and The Falcon was not following proper American military or S.H.I.E.L.D protocol and aiding Steve too. The articles mentioned a “registration act” that Iron Man, Tony Stark, agreed with, and Tony was quoted with saying “He’ll (Steve Rogers) come around and see it my way. Just give me time with him. Everyone knows how persuasive I can be when I really want something.”   
Peter could fit the missing pieces together himself. But what he couldn’t piece together was why Iron Man wanted Spider Man to be flown to Germany for. 

The plane ride wasn’t long at all. From New York to California, they made it in what seemed like minutes. Guess it didn’t take as long when you were the sole person one board. Peter didn’t even have a chance to take a nap, not that he could have even if he wanted to. He was so wired with the promise of dangerous adventure, and secret trips to Germany under the cover of a fake grant ceremony that he couldn’t tell his brain to shut up. It was so exciting! They took off, flew without any problems and landed. Nobody tried to attack the jet in the air, nobody called him on the fancy jet phone either. Peter stepped off the plane midley disappointed in the calm of it all and was greeted by another private car. This time it was much more subtle and less loud. It was a simple red Mustang. Ok fine, it was simple red Mustang with real gold framing and also spinning rims. Shiny and new, yes, but nowhere near as head turning as a Hummer limo in Queens. This one reading “Stark 12”on the plates. His bags were placed in the trunk again, the driver opened the door for him again, and they were off once more. He wondered if Tony ever got board of being weighted on hand and foot like this. Probably not. Tony Stark deserved all that was coming to him, as his Aunt would have put it.   
Public roads became less and less frequent as they went until the roads became only one private road for miles and miles out of town. Suddenly there was a dense forest, and mountains in the background and the road turned dirt, turned pavement, turned tarmac, turned road pavement again and then marble. Peter Parker had arrived in front of Stark manor’s front golden gates. They opened for him, and the driver drove for another full ten minutes, passing what must have been over one thousand acres of land in between. 

And there stood, no floated, The Vision. His golden cape fluttered in the day time breeze gently and he coldly regarded Peter when the driver pulled up to yet another golden gate. This time Peter could actually see the house beyond it. Peter got out of the car and didn’t know what to say to the red fleshed android. Well, that’s what the internet called him anyway. He wasn’t an alien, but a combo of Stark tech and Ultron and even some voodoo magic. People said he was from Liverpool and was Tony’s fitness trainer. He could have been. Peter looked at his perfectly Greek God-like body and it left him to feel incredibly small. He felt even shorter than usual as The Vision hoovered over the marble walk way, casting a big shadow underneath him, his long legs dangling in the air as he floated casually. 

“Sorry, Vision’s usually a lot friendlier than this.” Tony’s voice echoed out of the Iron Man suit, as he clanked up behind Peter. Peter was so memorized by The Vision’s deep gaze he didn’t even hear Iron Man land only a few feet behind him, War Machine too.   
Iron Man’s face mask flipped up, and Tony’s sweaty face greeted Peter finally, in person. It dawned on Peter then that Iron Man, War Machine and The Vision were all standing around him like they were catching up on the latest gossip of the day. Peter beamed brightly. 

“We had a little, let’s call it a minor case of willing kidnapping? And a little home redecorating. Nothing big, just a Vision sized hole in about 30 floors, all the way down to the second sub-basement.” Tony said and looked up at Vision. 

He placed his metal hands on his metal hips and like a silk scarf caught in a breeze, the Iron Man suit dissolved off Tony’s form. It folded over and under, up and out, in and down until it formed a palm sized little red suitcase at the billionaire’s feet. Peter gawped in powerful awe. He turned to War Machine, unable to close his mouth, who echoed out,

“Mine’s not as cool as that.”

“Jesus, Vision. The sub-basement. Really?” Tony was being playful and Vision wasn’t having any of it. Vison’s completely stoic face didn’t find that humorous in the slightest. Tony held up a hand in reassurance. 

“Don’t worry. Not like Hawkeye is going to hurt her. Not like Hawkeye CAN hurt her.” 

“The whole point was for HER not to hurt anyone.” Vision spit back in this very weird passive aggressive not-really-angry-but-totally-actually-very-angry tone. But it was clear he was a little more then beyond pissed. Peter shuffled his feet on the clean marble beneath him. War Machine’s hydraulics hissed behind him. Tony looked back at War Machine and threw his head at Vision.

“You two go take five. The Gerber Baby and I gotta talk shop for a bit.”

Vision stared at Tony for moment more. Really staring at him and turned upward to the sky and flew away into the forest’s thick brush. War Machine nodded to both Peter and Tony and said through his mask, “I’ll stay close to him.” His heavy armor took a few steps and then his leg boosters kicked on and he flew after Vision into the forest. 

Peter pitched himself. 

“Just checking that that really just happened, and I’m not in some coma after the jet crashed.” He pitched himself again. 

“Yup. Real. Ok, cool.”

Tony put on his rose colored glasses and motioned for Peter to follow him up the long path way to the house. Peter hitched up his bags on his shoulders and fell instep next to Mr. Stark. Tony began to explain why they were going to Germany.  
By the time they reached the door, Tony finished with, “And that’s why The Vision is a little moody right now. Which is weird, because we’re still not sure if he really has emotions. We’re working on it.”

Peter continued to nod long after Tony stopped talking. He followed him blindly into the picture perfect living room and dropped his bags next to one of many white couches. Man, the parties Tony threw here must have be legendary. Tony pointed out what switches did what and Peter wasn’t listening anymore. He was just thinking that he was in Iron Man’s house and he knew some Avenger gossip that had to deal with a God-like computer and a mutant witch that kinda sorta totally crushing at each other. Just…wow. 

They walked forever in the manor, going up stairs, turning in hallways that led to other rooms that turned into more hallways and finally reached a double glass door that lead to another metal door that was actually the doors to an elevator. God this place was confusing. God this place was big. Too big. When they reached the glass doors, Tony’s eye ball was scanned, his hand was scanned, and then his chest was scanned. He told Peter it was easy for a bad guy to cut his eye ball out and his hand for the body scans, but his chest piece, his artificial nuclear heart had to be on and inside him for the final scan to work. And if it didn’t, two miniature machines guns would go off at whoever was standing where they were currently waiting to clear. 

“You can never be too careful.”

“Well, duh. Not when your you.” 

Tony appreciated that. Most people thought it was little excessive, regardless of who he was. The scan worked and first the metal doors opened, then the glass ones, and they were stepped into the elevator. Tony said “Lab” and down they went. Down, down, down. Peter had no idea if he was claustrophobic, and boy would it suck to find that out right now. They stopped, the door opened, again another set of doors beyond them opened as well and Peter was fairly sure his heart couldn’t handle this amount of awesome and stopped. 

“Welcome to my play room.” Heaven’s gate opened before Peter and he was bathed in warm sterile white and blue lights and in the center of all the large display screens and endless rows of living computers stood the crimson red and vivid gold first ever Iron Man armor. Perfect and glimmering, a holy relic from the future. 

“Yeah, that always impresses everyone.” Tony said, already board of Peter’s endless wide eye wonderment. 

“DUDE.” Peter blurted. Ok, maybe Tony wasn’t as board as he thought. None of his serious army friends or fellow billionaires ever yelled out “Dude” in his lab before like that. Peter sure was a breath of fresh air in this place that was for certain.   
Peter ran up to and made a quick stop, his sneakers skirting across the polished glass floors. His spider senses stopped him from crashing into the armor when he realized there was no glass case round it. Without looking back at Tony, eyes hypnotized at the fanatic piece of equipment, he asked, 

“Can I touch it? Please? I need to touch it.” 

“Go for it, kiddo.”  
Peter’s finger tips reached for it and they trembled when the cool metal slide under his warm hand.

Tony saw Michelangelo’s David touching God’s hand. It was beautiful. Tony was never going to have kids. That was a certain fact in his uncertain life. And now that Pepper was- It didn’t matter. Tony would make a shit father anyway, just like his dad was shitty to him. He respected the hell out of that drunk bastard, but damn if Howard Stark didn’t help to make his childhood any easier. And here was Peter. Soaking it all in, drowning in the splendor that Tony was offering him. A good kid with a good heart, with an amazing head on his boney shoulders. And maybe just a little impressionable, and maybe Tony could use that to his advantage a little. “Advantage” was a stupid word that always had negative connotations to it, but he was a business man, he knew what he was doing. Tony Stark was doing the right thing. He would play his cards right with Peter, and with Steve, and he would have his team back with a freshly knew Spider addition and all would be back in place, registered and filed away neatly. 

Peter mumbled something about wanting to take a selfie with the Iron Man suit so bad, but no way he could ever explain the photo if anyone ever saw it. He walked around the lab, his hungry eyes exploring everything. If only he could stay here and learn how everything worked. If only Tony Stark wasn’t busy saving the world from itself he could teach Peter a thing or two about science and super hero stuff no doubt. Peter’s hand glided alongside the white metal of an automated robotic arm and it perked up when Peter touched its little black claw. 

“Looks like Dummy made a friend.”

Ha, it was astonishing that Peter looked so hurt so suddenly. Tony was going to make sure to build up that soft childlike exterior of his soon enough. Tony smiled and pointed at the clawed machine Peter was touching. The machine jumped at the nickname and whirled sadly for it. Peter hopped back, wide smile and open mouthed. The clawed arm turned it’s pinchers at him, opened them up and made a waving motion at Tony’s new acquaintance. Peter waved back, smiling like a child at Disneyland. 

“Him, not you. A million dollars’ worth of wires and microchips in that thing and all he can do is sloppily use the fire extinguisher.”

The machine’s pinchers snapped closed and pointed down. Peter thought he’s…it’s…feeling? Were hurt. It was still cool that it was a voice command that worked so smoothly.

“Ok, enough Wonderland exploration. Let’s get you suited up.”

Peter nodded so quickly he hurt his neck. He turned to go back up the elevator, running to the metal doors.

“Uh, and you’re going…where? Suit first, lunch second.” 

Peter pointed up. 

“My bags upstairs.” 

Tony wasn’t catching on. 

“My costume is in my bag, um, upstairs? Don’t worry, I get suited up super-fast. I learned if I just jump INTO the pants instead of putting on one leg at a time I save a whole minute.”

Tony rarely was stunned into silence. Maybe once or twice when he met Thor, or when Ultron had evolved into his final form and picked up a city and then fucking dropped it back down the Earth. And now he stared at Peter Parker, who had tucked on foot behind the other as he waited for Tony to let him back upstairs.

“You… _brought_ the PJs?”

Peter’s face turned as red as the Iron Man’s armor. 

“Was I not supposed to? I thought you needed my help. Well, Spider Man’s help, technically. Or…what?”

“KID,” Tony laughed out, pinching the bridge of his nose and closing his eyes. “You’re not going out there in a track suit you dug out of the trash like you did your computer.” 

“Ouch.” Peter said flatly. Tony stopped laughing, but kept his friendly smile. 

“I didn’t mean it like that. I mean, I DID, cause did I not mention to you that you’re helping me go convince Captain America to turn himself technically in? And by ‘convince’ I might, probably, most definitely get into the a fist fight with him and his little goon squad. You know, go actually head to head with The Falcon and what not?” 

The room dimmed and a hologram of Sam Wilson appeared at the mention of the Avenger’s name. Tony waved his hand, touching things in the air Peter didn’t see and then The Flacon’s suit of armor was pulled apart into separate pieces, like blueprints, and spun around like a 3D model, like the molecule and atoms display at the History Museum in Manhattan Peter knew so well. It was breathtaking to watch it all spring life like this, all at the will of Tony’s silent command.   
Tony acknowledged The Flacon’s wing armor, unfolded and proudly displayed. 

“You think these are just bullet proof pieces of metal shaped like feathers to fit Wilson’s birdy gimmick? These aren’t just bullet proof, they’re _heat seeking **missile** proof._ They’re shaped in those oblong diamond forms so those pretty little feathers aren’t just sharp, their scientifically edged to cut through submarine plates, and yet each wing weights less than 10 pounds. There’s a metallic skeleton that lines his arms when those things pop out and it makes his punch ten times stronger than any human’s. Those suckers take in the sunlight too, going green, like Stark Industries likes to do, and turn those happy little rays of sun into electricity to power a miniature high-speed electric turbine in his pack. His pack can make him go Mach 5 in half a second.”

Peter stared in wonderment. He was getting scolded and yet it was just so damn astounding. The Falcon’s other pieces of armor all read highlighted details like that as well. His red visor could protect his face from bomb blasts, his boots could absorb an electrical shock up to 2000 volts and his wrists armor were powerful enough to stop buzz saws ripping away at 160 mph. His chest plate was a hundred times stronger than a Soviet tank. 

The images switched from The Falcon’s armor to the Winter Soldier’s. Peter saw him on the news before when the helicarriers crashed into the bay of California. They said he was responsible for the UN bombing that just happened a week prior. The main piece of his armor was his fully robotic silver arm, a bright red chipped star was painted permanently at the shoulder. The metal plates stacked neatly on top of each other like a chrome snake.

“Winter Solider, aka, Mr. Bucky, aka, Captain’s new best friend, is not only fueled by rage, old HYDRA drugs from the 1930s, sleeper codes, a being just plain ol’ cranky from waking up for a hundred year old deep nap not too long ago is now running ramped somewhere. That arm rips through bank vault steel doors like paper, each finger is hinged so accurately that if he grabs you, you better believe you aren’t getting out that headlock with your head still attached. I don’t know to what extent HYDRA’s drugs did to him, but I sure know that it’s not normal for a man to outrun ME, in the Iron Man suit with both my turbo engines blasting on both feet. Am I getting through to you, kid?”

Peter nodded and looked at this “Bucky’s” profile photo that hung in midair before him. He looked at it like he did those spiders back during that field trip that was a life time ago. For someone who was insanely dangerous he sure did have very sad looking eyes even if they were caked with black grease. His profile and arm faded and that famous shield came up. 

Captain America’s shield was the only thing left on display, the other images fading out completely. The metallic colors of red, white and blue humbly hung in the center of the room. That Silver Star shining brightly in the center of it, like the righteous symbol of hope and freedom that it was. Peter got a little chocked up. He had seen the displays at the World War II Museum wing with Captain America’s display hundreds of times before. But even the exact duplicate didn’t even come close to beholding this hologram in Tony Stark’s laboratory.

“My father made this.” Tony said somberly. Peter could tell he was upset that his friend Captain America and he were fighting. But he also sounded hurt that they could even get to THIS point of arguing. 

“Practically indestructible. Can’t be broken, not even by a Lighting God’s magically hammer. Gave off one hell of a magnificent “Clang” though.” Tony clicked his tongue and crossed his arms, no longer staring at Peter but at the rotating shield. 

“They say “these colors don’t run.” You better believe that these certainly don’t get scratched either. And this puppy is wielded by one of the world’s strongest soldiers, who is dead set on helping some world criminally wanted terrorist because they used to share the same coffee cup in the war or something. And YOU,” Tony turned off the holograms, the room becoming bright again, Peter squinted at the light.

“Want to go fight these super soldiers in your jammy jams and swim goggles?”

Peter got the point, but wanted to be a smart ass anyway. He crossed his own arms.

“You know I could make you sound stupid too if I took on that tone.”

Tony barked a laugh. “Get your skinny ass onto that platform.” Peter turned to said platform and ooed and awed at the machines that were hooked up to it. He put his hands in his cargo pants pocket and pulled out a few glass vials of that webbing Tony got a little taste of back at the Parker apartment. 

“You just carry those in your pockets?” 

“Sorry, I don’t have a missile proof titanium solar powered indestructible carrying case like your friends do. So yes, I carry them in my pocket. The slingers too.” Peter pulled out the leather and wire bracelet-like straps that he must have just tied around his wrists while he was swimming two hundred feet up in the air, jumping from building to building in downtown New York. Praying they didn’t just, you know, break while he was mid-swing. 

“Spidey, you’re about to get upgraded something fierce. Now take off your cloths.” 

Peter turned to Tony to see if he was joking or not. He wasn’t and waited for Peter to disrobe. 

“Uh, look, just cause your world famous doesn’t mean I can’t call stranger danger on you. Billionaire or not.” 

Tony rolled his eyes, that famous “eat shit” smirk on his thin lips. “Oh please. You think I haven’t seen another hero’s birthday suit before? You know, the Hulk’s jeans don’t always stay on him when he transformers. Worried I’ll make fun of your tidy whities? They better not be stained or your uninvited to my hero punch-a-lot-party. 

Peter already discarded his shirt and then his belt hit the floor. He hiked one leg up, catching his shoe and hopping to pull it off, then a sock and repeated the motion with the other foot. 

Peter grabbed the waist of his pants and looked Tony dead in the eye.

“It’s Spider **MAN**.” He pulled down his pants and stood proudly, displaying in his red boxer briefs. 

“Not _boy_. Only little boys wear tidy whities.” Tony kneaded his forehead tenderly. He had to stop chuckling like this, he was going to ruin his cool and collective image. Banner would have been a great assistance to this. He liked kids a lot more than Tony did. But Peter sure was growing on him quickly enough. 

Peter tossed his underpants into the new pile of his clothing on the ground and stood bare ass naked on the platform and watched as Tony approached a council to the side of him. Peter saw new display screens pop up, the numbers and words were backwards to him, but he saw the unmistakable multiple video clips of Spider Man caught on camera, swinging away after tying up a simple thief to a lamp post with his webbing. 

Something hummed, something clicked and two long and impossibly thin metal rods came up from the floor on either side of him. If Peter learned anything from cartoons, this was the moment he was going to get electrocuted into funny poses. Instead the two rods flashed a bright UV light on him, spun around his whole body from head to toe and lowered themselves to his feet. 

“Stick your arms out and for the love of God. Don’t. Move.”

Peter did as he was told and the little rods started to go back and forth over his left foot slowly and then picked up speed, faster and faster. They weaved back and forth so quickly now they became a gray smear in Peter’s vision as he looked down (even though Tony just told him not to move.) He couldn’t see it, but he certainly felt it. His whole foot was getting covered in some sort of ultra-thin mesh fabric, and like a weaver on a loom, the mesh was being built up his leg. The little rods were like sowing needles, creating the suit ON Peter, instead of making it off measurements from him to try on later. He was getting built INTO his new suit. 

“Clever.” Peter called out to Tony over the soft hum. In just another minute, he would have a fully formed shoe. Blue with black etchings of spider webs designed into it. “Whoa, nice!” 

Tony sat in a fancy swivel chair and distracted himself with a data pad, catching up on what he missed while playing tour guide for Parker. Nothing to really to report, just the same news feed from the past 24 hours, everything in the world is still shitty and Captain America has gone AWOL for the time being. Stark distracted himself by turning on his many TVs screens and swiveled around to watch them all at once on mute to see if anything would catch his attention.  
“Huston, we have a boot! I repeat. We have a boot!” Peter cried out with joy behind him. 

“This technology is blowing my mind right now. I mean, I thought I was impressed with the things they have at Oscorp Industries, but this….THIS? Are you serious right now? You ever been to Oscop? I’m sure you have.”  
Tony snored. 

“Pfft. ’Oscorp’,” Stark said completely underwhelmed by that name, unlike Peter who used to be so amazed by it. He didn’t elaborate. He didn’t need to. All someone had to do was see both facilities and it was natural to see that Tony’s tiny private basement was light years in front of the entire corporation of Oscorp. They were an automatic sliding door at a grocery store that stood next to a fully functional matter teleporter. No wonder there were so many people in the world that wanted either Tony dead or on their payroll. 

“Who’s that?” 

“Hmm?” Tony looked at Peter, now with a spider suite covering his waist and working its way up his chest. He pointed to one of the blinking and flashing floating digital screens that Tony was watching. About 20 screens showed 20 different new stations from around the world all of which 70% of them were talking about the UN attack in Wakanda. The one he pointed was one of the few that were not talking about the man hunt for the Winter Solider. 

Tony turned back to the screens and frowned at the Peter was pointing to. Peter was now previee to be one of the few people in Tony’s life that had ever seen him not have an answer for something, as rare as that was. He’s steady face became concentrated, his mind searching the endless banks of knowledge and memory for the man that was on the screen and was coming up short. He commanded the control center to unmute screen number four and to enlarge. (So cool. Like in Star Trek) Peter also didn’t recall ever seeing this masked man all dawned in red and black, a powerful and very illegal looking machine gun was cradled in one of the man’s huge arms, a long katana sword in his other hand, dripping with human blood.   
A female news anchor’s voice played over the camera footage of a bystander’s camera phone. But by the looks of the angel it may have been one of the people in the room. 

“-so he confirmed later in court. And as this shows, please, for those at home, this next clip is very violent and may be unsettling for some, but here at CNM, we proudly show you unedited clips of the news. The vigilantly, now traced back to other crime ring break ups and connected to the deaths of crime lords and drug King Pins has been confirmed to be the “Deadpool.” As we can see here, the 6 foot, 4 inch, male sets off a homemade bomb of sorts, captured on one of the criminals phones, who was tapping earlier one of the kidnapped girls from the Ukkraina elementary schools-“

The footage played a little girl on screen, one who had been crying for days, a filthy gag in her mouth and the man behind the phone said something in Slavic, causing the girl to cry louder and harder. He laughed and then there was a loud muffled bang and the image blurred as he turned to the sound and the camera recorded a window. The window shattered into a rain of glass as all 300 pounds of Deadpool’s body smashed through it, his huge muscled arms uncovering his face when he barrel rolled into the room and bounced up to his feet.

“Man, I feel sorry for whoever is about to get punched in the face by that guy.” Peter said. 

Tony continued to frown and didn’t say anything. He had a feeling that this Deadpool wasn’t just there to deliver a few punches. 

All the children in the room screamed and all the men on opposite side of the camera opened fire from small tommy guns, hundreds of bullets ripping Deadpool apart with no mercy. Blood splattered the walls, and the large man danced like a rag doll under the barrage of bullets and then when he was fully transformed into a messy pulp of soggy meat and flesh, dropped to his knees and fell face first into the glass. 

The men in the room jeered at the miserable excuse of a hero and then the man on the ground groaned painfully. Peter and Tony’s mouths dropped down together. There was no way that Deadpool had survived that, unless this was a prank video. But the phone’s camera pointed at him again, the men muttering among themselves, bewildered at the intruder who twitched on the ground and then one arm shot up, then the other, and he miraculously pulled himself up. One man in the corner dropped to his knees and did a Hail Mary.

“You Russian **BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP BEEEEEP**.” The news station censored the colorful language. Steve would not have approved either. The Ukkraina men shouted the English word “Mutant!” and before they could open fire again (some guns clicking to show they were out of bullets), Deadpool threw his hands to the two hilts of two incredibly sharp blades on his back and whipped out his color coded matching katanas. 

“You pedos are about to get these two beauties shoved so far up your **BEEP** , you’ll know what the kiddies go through. Ready or not! HERE COMES DADDY!” 

Deadpool revved up and the camera was cut off. The image decreased in size and went back into the corner of the news channel and the anchor women from before became center stage. 

“Due to the very graphic nature of the video, even CNM cannot be allowed to air it. Deadpool was later caught another camera, a security cam that overlooked the docking bay with this footage- 

The screen showed Deadpool jumping through a glass window 30 stories up and completely missing the ledge of the other building. Surely that was the end of the news report, with the crazy man being found dead with a broken neck, but nope, seemed like he just dusted himself off, actually snapped his broken neck BACK into place and skipped down the alleyway and out of sight. The security camera feed looped again and again while the reporters discussed it. The anchor woman said,

“Even though Deadpool managed to save the fifteen missing girls from the two weeks ago, the body count ended up being over 30, and with the D.P.D.L gang all being literally dismembered, a dangerous turf war has broken out in the east and north south of the Ukkraina’s docking bays. Some claim that Deadpool should have let the D.P.D.L keep the girls, to spare now the whole upper states of living in terror, others claim that they wished Deadpool would just clean house, and take matters into his own hands, as the Police clearly “Cannot do such great justice that Deadpool can.”

Tony muted the channel once more, and leaned back in his chair. Really leaned back into it. 

Tony became worried, seeing this Deadpool clearly die when he hit the ground and get eaten up by more than 200 hundred rounds of bullets. His suit was clearly not bullet proof when every bullet went into him rather than bouncing off him. But then to magically get back up again and brush it off like it was stunt on a movie set was indeed worrying. The men on the camera called him a “mutant.” He knew he heard of that term before and it always came attached with a Professor of some kind…Tony made a mental not to check that out later. This masked vigilantly would have to wait for another time as well. Right now he had to focus on bringing Steve over on his side and somehow convince him he was right, Cap was wrong, right, but still wrong, and that Tony was MORE right.

“Geeze.” Peter said, right behind Tony’s chair. Tony turned to see Peter unmasked, now fully covered in a high tech second blue and red thermal skin, black webbing decorating his arms, chest and legs beautifully, his mask in his webbed hands. Peter pulled at a strap at the top of his sleek new boots that were almost completely laid flat against his leg and tighten them. This wasn’t a uniform, it was literally a second layer of skin that rested perfectly on top his own. 

“Maybe it’s a good thing people get put on this registration act. So you don’t get nut cases like that running around playing pretend as the good guy. Can you image that guy just running around freely and claiming what he does as a good thing?” He adjusted the skin tight fabric around his shoulders. 

“Guys like him make my job so much harder. You know there’s a guy at this newspaper I sometimes work for, well, not “work” work for, you know odd jobs, thinks Spiderman is a menace. A menace! Little ol’ me trying to stop a purse snatching or, heck, the very rare bank robbery. And I’m the bad guy?”

Peter placed the snug mask over his crown and was about to pull it over his face, becoming the Spider Man he always wanted to be, instead of just a guy running around in his sweat pants and double sweater outfit, hoping the goons he was webbing to the wall didn’t have a gun on them. Or he at least prayed they had lousy aim and would miss any vital organs if they shot at him. He looked at the back of Tony’s perfectly groomed head and said,

“Don’t worry Mr. Stark. We’ll get Captain to come around. A guy like you knows what’s best, right? Right.”

Tony looked over his shoulder at the boy. Peter smiled and curtly nodded, and down came the thick fabric of the mask, turning the young lad into Spider Man. He said “whoa” behind the bullet proof mesh and those black ringed optic lenses adjusted automatically at whatever Spider Man was looking at. The high tech piece of equipment was amazing and he turned his head to and fro. Tony knew he was taking it all in, the brilliant clarity and the read outputs in the corner of his eye. No more swinging with safely googles strapped onto his head in the skyline of New York City. 

Tony genuinely smiled at Spider Man, at Peter under that mask.

“I knew I liked you, kid. And stop calling me Mr. Stark. I know you’re ten, but that makes me feel really old. Just Tony. Please.”

Spider Man visibly perked up at the comment. He shot up to his toes a little, head turned up more, shoulder pulled back and his chest proudly displaying his finely etched spider symbol. (It always bugged Peter that when he cut his symbol out of felt it looked more like a cockroach and he couldn’t ask his Aunt for help. She was always so good at crafts).

“How does it feel?”

“I have no words…”

“Perfect. That’s how it’s supposed to feel. Iron Man suit 0001 through 00134 all felt wrong. I could always put it into words. The left leg was too snug, the lower back strut was off center, something pitched at the hip. It was when I finally ran out of words to use for complaints did it final become perfect. Lucky for you, your non armor suit is a millionth of a percentage easier to form correctly right off the bat.”

“Thank you Mist-…Tony. I don’t know how to thank you.”

“You’re going to say ‘thank you’ in the form of a swift punch to Steve’s face to knock some sense into him, right?

“Right!”

“Well then, let’s get those web thingys in there all proper like, and go get your passport. We head for Germany in, oh, twenty minutes.” 

“Don’t passports take weeks to ge-“ Tony looked at him with a dull expression.

“Right, right. Heh, forgot who I’m taking to.” 

 

///

Aunt May jumped to her feet in joy when she heard the key in the front door turn the lock. She hadn’t realized how much she missed Peter after he was gone for the whole weekend and the house was so silent by herself. She ran to the door and opened it for him. She pulled him inside, taking his bags off his shoulders, greeting him home. 

“Peter!! How was it! Tell me everything! You didn’t call during the trip after you landed so I assumed everything went well! Tell me what Mr. Stark said! Did you get the grant? Do you want some tea? I’ll make some tear while you tell me everything. How as that limo ride? Did you get to meet Mr. Stark again? Did he remember you? Maybe he made house calls to all the applicants. Where there a lot of them? Tell me if you made any new frie-OH GOD! _PETER!!_ ” She shrieked. Aunt May was greeted back with Peter’s cocky boyish grin, (which was missing an upper tooth that was framed in between swollen, cracked lips) that pulled up into the blackest bruise she had ever seen in her whole life covering his entire right eye and top of his head. Like something from one of her crime drama shows from the TV, but only AFTER the dead body was found brutally beaten to death.

“Heh. Well, the seminar was great, Aunt May, you would have loved it. Learned a lot. Meet some cool guys. But, uh, see there was this another, uh, kid from Brooklyn…aaaaand…weeeeeeeeeee didn’t see some things eye to eye exaaaaactly…” He trailed off. Aunt May, flabbergasted in shock, horror, grief and anger (mostly anger at this other ‘kid’) and went to fetch a big piece of red meat from the freezer and slap it onto Peter’s face. 

“Oh Peter.” She said, her head shaking. 

‘More like, Oh Spider Man.’ Peter thought to himself. He replayed in his head how amazing he was as he swung around Ant Man’s enormous legs in order to bring him down, web flying right and left, time was of the crucial essence, Black Panther was so pissed, Captain America was getting away! He brought down The Falcon AND Winter Solider!

Aunt May saw Peter smile for no reason and knew she had to take her concussed nephew to the hospital. Why did being so smart have to come with some much physical damage. 

//

Next Chapter: Bucky wakes up unsuspectingly when his deep sleep machine malfunctions and has to spend the day under Black Panther's watchful eye while it gets fixed.   
Til next time! THANK YOU for the comments and kudos. It's the only reason I wake up in the mornings.


	3. Eat You Alive (Ravagers x Starlord)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I saw Guardians Vol 2. Vol 1 is in my top 5 favorite movies of all time. This movie pretty much poked me with a hot branding iron because ever since the first movie I've always had plot bunnies of Peter and the Ravagers... I've been finally pushed over the edge. Rated NC17 for some goo' ol' smut. Woo!

The Ravagers were a simple bunch of pirates. They killed, stole, slept, ate and fucked. Sometimes they did all those things at once if they were lucky. Time was not something that was in abundance when it came to racing across the galaxy for the next big score, so you tried to cram everything in together. You had to pack up and go, or sometimes just leave everything behind and get your ass back on the ship before everything blew up in everyone’s faces. Nobody had time to plan things. 

Death wasn’t just waiting for you, it was lounging. It had it’s little feet propped up on a nice big pillow, with a magazine it it’s skeletal hands. You never knew when it was going to get board and get up and come for you. 

So if you could kill and steal and take a nice nap before eating and getting in a quick fuck, you were having a pretty good day. If you could get in three of those things in the same day that you died, hell, you just had a fantastic last day in this vast galaxy. The longer jobs took though, some of those perks would come few and far in between. 

Killing and stealing could come when you hit the job. 

Sleeping and eating fell into the came category after a while. They both became stale. Oversleeping made some of the men incredibly aggregate; they had so much rest and no way to exsert the energy that just asked for fights to break out every few minutes. And who could enjoy the same three freeze dried foods for every meal before you started biting the arm of someone else just to see if you were brave enough turn a little cannibalistic, if only for one day. Though that did strike up a very long and interesting conversation between the different alien races on what was considered “cannibalistic”. 

Fucking was nearly impossible when you were stuck in space, without a port in sight. Beautiful cyborg hookers were hundreds of millions of miles away and while there may have been one or two couplings within the ranks, your hand or whatever extra extension you owned was your only release.

Unless Yondu’s boy could be pried away from the Captain’s side long enough. The Captain called the pale thing with golden locks of curly hair “Peter”, sometimes “Quill”, sometimes “Kiddo.” Whatever he called him, the Terran would glare up at the strikingly tall alien, and then sink away when Yondu returned the glare and flashed his disgustingly sharp and crooked pearly whites. 

Peter was nothing more than a big bother when he was little. Humans grew up very slowly it seemed. They only aged and grew taller once every 365 days or so. The crew wasn’t even allowed to eat him. They had though Yondu kept him alive as a joke. Surely there was going to be some punch line when the kidnapped child wasn’t going to be delivered to the client who paid for him. But nothing ever happened. All that happened was Yondu’s Ravagers gained a weak little pick pocket that had quick hands and could fit into small cracks. 

Sixteen years later and Peter was still annoying, always complaining and gripping about his share of the work, showing off to various space women when he flicked on his nifty looking helmet or could shoot a pretty damn good shot at a beer bottle that he would toss into the air. Sometimes he got lucky. Some silver skinned beauty would tug at the red leather of his lapels and pull him away from the crowd. He would come back to the ship with hideous looking bite marks on his face, but that dumb grin of his said it all. 

Yondu just shook his head at him. 

“Better go ask Nelph for an antidote shot. That there was a Kibrra female and you let her bite you.”

Peter’s grin dropped, the crew laughed, Yondu called him a moron under his breath as he madly dashed by to find the ship’s quote, unquote, medic for medicine. Peter could already start feeling his lungs melting and kidney erupting. Damn poisonous Kibrra females.

The kid was stupid back then. Hell, he still was, but he certainly did look good after you stared at him long enough. His human face was starting to grow some fuzz around his chin, a little like Yondu’s, but nowhere near as coarse and rough. It was almost like a fruits and blond.

Yondu had a mother falcon’s eye on the kid when he was little, even though he was constantly threatening to feed him to the crew. It certainly gave Peter mixed messages when he was threatened with being torn limb from limb for lunch, but then having the Captain give a swift uppercut when someone’s hand reached to grab at the boy’s thin waist. 

By the time the crew started smelling Peter’s soft hair when they were close enough to him, he was old enough to have started a body count. Yondu’s over protectiveness wasn’t sitting well with the cutthroats the older he became. Trusting that Peter wasn’t too stupid to get himself actually eaten when left alone, the Captain turned his eyes away and allowed Peter to be unhitched from his hip. This pleased the crew very much. 

But not as much as they had hoped they would be. Peter was, unamusingly, really easy to persuade into an equipment room when Yondu wasn’t looking. Although that gave the crew what they ultimately wanted, all the sport of teasing and aggressive taunting died before it could start. Just give the human a few too many shots of something strong, caress the back of his smooth neck with a soft hand and he would be kissing back whoever was trying to shove their split tongue down his throat in no time.

Humans, as it turned out, especially male ones, were insanly horney at this age. A few months shy of eighteen and Peter’s pants still grew tight whenever he spotted one of the three female Ravagers walk by. He took in their swinging hips, their supple breasts and their fat lips. One of them even let Peter eat her out once, a story Peter could not stop bragging about for weeks after. Although, to his credit, the women did mention that his own tongue was exceptionally talented. Even if it wasn’t three feet long like the males of her species. 

The crew talked dirty with him, he talked back, and somewhere down the drunkard road of comparing certain conquests to others, Peter would be easily pulled away from the little huddle of people, and pushed up against a wall in a dark corner somewhere else. Roaming hands slipped into his leather pants, or under his shirt, or into his silky hair. Wet kisses and slippery extensions dotted hungrily affections onto his neck and jawline. The human was insanely easy to rile up. 

Peter was the smallest of them, that was for certain. For a human he may have been an impressive sight, even with his fruit fuzz on his smooth face. He was tall and lean, with a broad chest and strong arms. His smile, when he wasn’t glaring or frowning could make the most dangerous of them feel warm inside. But against the alien males, he almost never reached the tops of their heads. It was another reason Peter was easy to whisk away, and even easier to lift up into one’s lap when pulled down to the ground. 

Gaviller was the one who got his webbed three fingered hands on him this time. Peter wasn’t as drunk as he would have liked to have been, but at least he had brought his Walkman with him. Gaviller was never much of a talker, mostly because his huge fangs that stuck outside his mouth made him spit and stutter whenever he said more than three words in a row. 

He got Peter down onto his back and put his legs on either side of his own hips. As Peter eyeballed Gaviller messing with his own complicated belt buckle and zipper of his pants, he slipped his orange padded headphones over his ears. 

“Hey,” he said up to Gaviller, “you mind?” Peter pointed to the headphones, and Gaviller just grunted a ‘nah’ and pulled Peter’s pants down. 

Peter smiled and said, “Cool.”

There was a soft hiss in his ears when he hit the big blocky play button of his Walkman and when Elvin Bishop’s sweet, sweet vocals slipped into his ear, Gaviller’s thick finger slipped into Peter’s entrance, nice and easy. Peter angled his hips up and pillowed one arm behind his head and the other across his chest, his music player firmly in his hand. He watched the show in front of him unfold. 

Gaviller didn’t really need to concern himself with stretching the young man out. He had slipped some oil out from a packet, gun cleaner by the smell of it, and slicked his fingers up with it. Gaviller was a shiney purple color, his skin almost looked like a shark's, smooth in the light, but actually rough. His light pink toned finger pushed in and out of Peter a few more times, not even bothering to add a second one, and he gripped the boy tightly. 

“Hips up, Starboy.” 

“It’s Star LOR- Ow, ow, ow, fuck. Easy!” 

Gaviller thrusts into him, fast, too fast, and insistent, hands bruisingly tight around Peter’s waist. The pirate’s girth was much thicker than at first glance it seemed. Peter almost bites off his tongue when the other alien pulls himself back a little only to ram himself down all the way in. Fully buried in Peter’s warmth, Peter’s toes curl inside his steel toed boots. When Gaviller breathes out, he feels it. His own low moan is breathed out evenly, then hitches when Gaviller starts to rock in and out of him. 

Gaviller muttered something too quietly to be heard over _But then I fooooooled around and feeeeell in loooooove_. Peter preferred it that way. One thing he got sick of quick was when the bigger idiots who thrusted into him in the force of an engine piston would grunt and wheeze like wild boars. Peter considered himself to be a LITTLE of a romantic, and didn’t appreciate sloppy and awful smelling mating calls of dim witted pirates. 

His hips drag along with each of Gaviller’s thrusts. He closes his eyes as the next song in his ear starts, and makes no attempt to push back or offer resistance when the other male starts to pick up his pace. Peter honestly just enjoys the ride, his knees hitting Gavillers side each time he pulls himself into the little human. 

Something that’s tightly coiled inside Peter starts to loosen with every luxurious slide of Gaviller in him and he breathes out in small puffs and pants. Peter comes easily enough the first time as he arches his back, the back of his head scrapes along the hard metal floors of the ship. Peter spills messily over himself and even had enough time to become soft while _Hello World! I’m your wild girl!_ wailed on his beloved mixtape. 

Gaviller didn’t seem to even notice and continued on with his mindless rutting. 

“...Shit.” Peter said to himself. This wasn’t the first time he came across an alien species on this ship that had a long lasting libido. There were a few that finally released into him after he’d dozed off for a good hour. It was one thing for the Ravagers to treat him as their personal concubine, it was another to just be regarded as a brainless sex toy. 

Peter’s arm came from behind his head, and his hands exchanged his Walkman. His newly freed hand wrapped itself around his soft dick and gave it a few tugs to strive it to be stiff again. 

“You, uh, you getting close there, Gav?” Peter said. 

Instead of replying, Gaviller flipped Peter over onto his stomach harshly, causing the human to grunt out painfully when his rib cage got smashed into the ground. 

“Hey, man!” 

Still thrusting behind Peter, Gaviller’s hips smashed into his backside and as if his pace couldn’t have become more frantic, he gripped onto Peter with so much force, Peter cried out that the alien might actually crack his hip bones. 

If Peter was surprised by the roughness of it, he was even more taken aback that he was actually completely hard again. His own member painfully pushing up in his stomach and the unforgiving rough texture of the floor grinding against it.

Peter feels all the shifts of Gaviller’s body as he tries to work him into the right angle so he can go deeper. Gaviller rides him hard, Peter coming again for the second time in such a quick manner and yelps as he does. He’s a little louder than usual, as the music inside his head is blaring. His finger slipped over the volume wheel when he was tossed so suddenly, and the soft vocals of Rupert Holmes is nothing more a treble of indistinguishable words and static. 

Gaviller grunted and finally comes inside the young man. Peter fills Gaviller spilling into him in bursts of gushes. He looks down, his head turned upside down to look between his legs. He can see Gaviller’s balls, or some sort of sack that looks like what a human male would sport, and watches it strain itself to empty it’s contents into Peter. A trickle of whatever just poured into him, dribbles out his asshole. It’s a dark blue color, and considering where it came from, it was almost pretty to watch fall from in between Peter’s thighs. 

“Almost done.” Gaviller says. Though if it was to himself or to Peter, it wasn’t clear. Peter couldn’t hold himself up any more, and lays patiently with his ass still in the air, with Gaviller STILL inside him and ejaculating into him. Peter turns down the volume of his Walkman, his ears no longer able to take the abuse of loud noise and the tape plays nothing. The play button pops up, reaching the end of the song list.

Gaviller chuckles lowly, satisfyingly. The sound of him withdrawing is gross and Peter’s nose crinkles at the sounds of it. When Gaviller slaps the side of his leg, to show his appreciation of such a good ride, Peter whirled around to punch him in the face. Gaviller hands fly up this face and hold his nose. 

“What the fuck! What was that for!”

“Asshole. You almost damaged my Walkman, flipping me over like that.” Peter examined the blue and silver hard case coating of his device, his eyes squinted as he did. 

Gaviller pulled a hand away, pissed that his nose hurt like a mother hubbard now, but was at least relieved that his palms didn’t pull away any blood smeared on them. For a sex wanton human, Peter sure could pack a punch even after such an instance mating session. 

Gaviller gripped his nose steadily and then gave Peter a mocking smile. 

“What?” Peter asked, eyes half glazed over. His expression clearly saying “I’ll hit you again, I swear.” 

Gaviller pointed down to his very erect penis. The older Ravager spread his legs open, a welcoming lap for Peter to come sit upon. Peter’s eyes widened at the sight of it. 

“Well wouldja look at that. Looks like I like getting hit in the face or something...Wanna go again?”

Peter shot up, pulling his pants up from his ankles and buckling them tight. He angrily shoved his Walkman into his pocket. He ran a hand through his hair and turned to go get himself another drink, or ten, and mentally checked Gaviller into his “Aliens To Not Do Again” list. 

“Awww, come on Starboy!” Gaviller shouted to Peter’s retreating back.

“It’s Star LORD! I hope you die from blue balls Gav!” 

Peter walked past curious crew mates faces and ignored them. They were surprised when they saw just how red Peter’s face was and why there was a sudden joyous laughter flowing into the hallways from somewhere down below the decks.


End file.
